Heroes

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." -Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Finally… the great unveiling has come to pass. I know I've been dragging you guys along, stretching it as painfully as possible ;) Anyways, I hope this chapter explains a few things.

Chapter 8

Father Jim hurried to the thick oak door that acted as the entry way to the old church in downtown Chicago. A loud pounding was sounding from it; an impatient individual that was obviously not going to be ignored. He flipped the heavy bolts and pulled it open slightly revealing an irate young man.

"Dean," he greeted warily.

"Father," Dean pushed passed him into the front hall. "We need to talk."

The Father wiped a tired hand across his eyes, "Dean, I realize you're new to ways of the church, but confessional isn't until-"

"Whose bringin you the kids?" Dean cut him off impatiently.

Father Jim looked dumfounded. "I'm sorry?"

Dean held up the folder with the papers messily hanging out, "Tara Reed, Timothy Harding, Alyson Briggs… any of these names ringin a bell?" he sneered.

The Father stared at the folders with a resigned expression. He let out a weary sigh before giving a small nod and gesturing for the younger man to follow him. They entered the Father's office that had a connecting door to his personal quarters. He motioned towards a chair in front of the old, ornate desk, falling into his own chair. Dean dropped the folder in front of the priest, but declined to sit… or rather defiantly ignored the chair behind him entirely.

The Priest looked down at the folder for a moment before carefully opening it; already guessing at what lay within.

Dean didn't wait for him to read through them, "You've had three babies dropped into your hands in the last year. Each arrived exactly one day after an arson fire." He tapped his finger on the opened folder emphasizing his point. "Interestingly enough, you choose to name all the kids Brayman… a man who just so happened to die exactly one day after an arson fire back in 1983." The Father folded his hands before him on the desk and calmly looked at the other man. Dean tilted his head, "And why do I get the feeling if we were to take a look at your records we'd find a lot more 'drop offs' that match the dates of the other fires?"

He watched the Holy man expectantly who raised his folded hands to his chin with a resigned sigh. "There's more going on here than you realize Dean," he said softly and without insult.

Dean flung his arms out, "Well by all means, explain it to me."

Father Jim chewed on his lip behind his clasped hands, staring at the desk. "It requires more than a simple avowal," his eyes flickered up to gaze hard at the younger man, "What you're asking for requires a deeper level of faith to believe and courage to endure."

Dean's brow quirked in annoyance, "What are we talking about God here?"

Jim tilted his head a little, "In some sense, yes."

Dean ran a frustrated hand over his face, "Look, I didn't come here to be evangelized; I came here looking for answers. Answers as to why this church has been knowingly accepting supposed victims from an outside source and denying their remaining family members the right to raise them." Dean stared down hard at the other man. "Answers that could incriminate not just you, but all the sweet old ladies you've got running around here taking care of these kids during the week. And if that happens, you're lookin at jail time-"

"The children are marked Dean." Father Jim cut the younger man off firmly. He needed Dean to realize the seriousness of what he was about to reveal.

Dean paused in his rant as the Father interrupted him. "Marked," he said flatly.

"Yes marked… in other words a large target of supernatural value was placed over their heads for reasons beyond your understanding."

Dean blinked, his eyebrows raised. "Supernatural value."

"Yes, by a very evil; a very powerful demon."

Dean finally allowed himself to sit in the chair, slouching back and crossing his arms across his chest with a skeptical look. "Is that right?"

"We call him the Fire Demon."

"And 'we' are…?"

"Myself and others who are aware of the Spiritual Warfare currently plaguing the world around us."

Dean actually chuckled, "Sounds like you got a little club goin on there Father."

"Like I said, a deeper level of faith."

Dean's grin slipped, un-amused. "Okay… let's say this demon is the cause for all these fires; why the mother and the kid? Why not the dad… or hell, why not just the kid if he's the one marked?"

"It's complicated." He answered plainly.

"Not good enough." Dean responded in kind.

Father Jim's brow quirked, "I've got a better question for you Dean; in all the investigations in the last fifty years, have any of the fathers or remaining family members ever reported having actually witnessed the mothers deaths?"

The younger man watched him a moment before giving a small, casual shrug. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Let me paint a picture for you; a father comes home after a late night run to a supermarket. The father goes upstairs to find his wife only she's not in bed," he shrugged, "so he checks the baby's nursery." He paused seemingly for effect, watching Dean's suddenly deeply guarded expression. "When he walks in he sees only the child in its crib. After checking on the child he realizes something isn't right… he glances up, to the ceiling. And there… pinned to the ceiling by some unseen force is his wife, blood dripping from a slash across her belly. He calls out to her when suddenly flames burst from her wound and swallow her up, quickly spreading across the ceiling, consuming the crib and baby as well."

Dean didn't move; he didn't exactly know how to respond to that. "Lovely story," he said, trying not to combine his own past experience with what the Father had just said. The thought of his own mother and baby brother dying like that was too much.

"It's called a blood sanctification. When sacrificial blood is spilt over the head of someone who is blessed and then consumed in fire; that someone, in this case the baby, is not only killed, but their blessing is abolished."

Dean waved his hands in the air, sitting up in his chair, "Whoa, whoa, whoa… blessing?"

"Not your typical blessing."

"Okay then what?"

The Father tilted his head, "Well it's been different for different people. In some cases it's been simple things like discernment and wisdom; an individual is overly gifted in discerning situations and making wise decisions."

Dean frowned, confused, "So an extremely powerful demon wants a four-eyed genius dead because…"

"Some people believed Napoleon Bonaparte had the gift of discernment and wisdom…" he held his hand up lazily, "and look at what he did."

"Okay, so extremely wise people make good leaders… what else are we lookin at?"

"Any number of things Dean; you'll find most of the blessings are gifts that we tend to scoff at or pass over without a thought."

"Like…" Dean encouraged, though not without annoyance.

"Like, I don't know… someone who can breathe underwater or see in the dark; unnatural strength, telekinesis, healing-"

"What?" Dean stared, trying to sort this crazy man's story out in his head.

The Father lifted his hands in surrender, "Most mythical tales and superstitions come from some form of truth… it's just a matter of finding the truth back to it's original roots."

Dean just stared at the other man. "You actually know a guy that can breathe underwater?" he asked flatly.

"No. However I did hear of one a while back." Father Jim shifted forward in his chair, the leather squeaking in protest, "Look, Dean… the point is, these people that are gifted; these babies… they were gifted for a reason."

"To fight this demon," Dean hazarded. When the other man tilted his head back a bit seemingly impressed, he tried again. "Or any other evil thing out there... kinda like a special forces."

"For God's own purposes." He watched the younger man a moment more, "We are not alone in this world. The Father has given us the means to fight back."

Dean dropped his head, feeling slightly uncomfortable beneath the Holy man's stare. Was he actually considering this? Sure, he'd been looking for answers, but this was just a little ridiculous. "So all these fires…" he looked up again, "this fire demon is trying to stop these kids from growing up and using their gifts? From killing it?"

"It's scared of their potential," the Father confirmed.

"And the mothers… why them?"

"The theory is that when a blessed individual dies, their gift is passed on to another. Now it would do no good to the demon to kill the blessed one if the gift was simply passed on to another-"

"So he destroys the blessing itself."

Father Jim pointed at him, "Exactly. And just as the only way to escape eternal death is by a sinless sacrifice… so too, the only way to kill a blessing is by sacrificial blood; in this case maternal blood."

"So the demon kills the mother over the kids crib and then consumes them both in fire… killing the kid and the blessing."

"Do you understand now why it is impertinent that these children remain under our protection?"

Austere green eyes found the older man's; disapproving, yet accepting. "Whose bringing you these babies?"

"A blessed individual who has the gift of prophecy."

"Fortune telling," Dean stated flatly.

"Visions. Fragmented visuals of future events; sometimes easily discernable, sometimes not."

"So he's been seeing the murders before they're happening and saving the kids. Why not the mothers?"

"As I said before, these visions are not always easily discernable. Sometimes he does make it in time to save both… sometimes he doesn't. Those would be the fires you're called upon to stop."

Dean sat quietly for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not he should continue his flight over the cuckoo nest or get the heck outta dodge while he still could. His eyes flitted over the papers splayed across the Father's desk. He saw the names on the reports, the names of children who would grow up defending against the dark. "Matthew Brayman is the one bringing you those kids…" green eyes looked up into blue, "he's the one with the visions… isn't he."

The Father looked mildly surprised. "What do you know of Matthew?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I know he grew up here; I know he wears one of those protective charms around his neck like your other gifted kids here. And I know I saw him the other night at the fire on Delmar Street."

Father Jim gave a small nod. "Matthew was brought to me years ago by the man you asked me about the other day."

"Jeremiah Brayman."

"In fact, Matthew was the last child he saved."

"He died saving him?" he asked, but then tilted his head back as he remembered the other man's words from before, repeating them, "-protecting another."

Father Jim nodded. "Pulled him from the fire though not without serious injury to himself. He called me after he escaped asking me to meet him in Kansas City." Dean froze; dates and wild implications all fighting for attention in his head while his heart decided to plummet into his stomach. "When I got there Jeremiah was already dead, Matthew was sleeping peacefully in the bed next to him. I picked him up and brought him back here. I raised him until he hit ten years of age in which time he went into the government's foster system."

Dean brought a hand up to cover his mouth, trying very hard to remind his lungs that breathing was a good thing. He swallowed thickly. "Do you by any chance know the name of the family?" At the Father's confused look, he glanced down, again trying to swallow down the lump lodged in his throat. "His original family… his birth name."

Father Jim's brow furrowed slightly in thought, "Winchester I believe… why?"

Dean felt as if he'd been sucker punched. He couldn't breathe, which didn't really matter as he couldn't remember why he needed to breathe in the first place. All he knew was that there was no turning back now. What was once lost had suddenly been found. He didn't want to believe it because convenience of perpetual ignorance and daily life was easier to deal with… and yet at the same time, every fiber in his being wanted to believe his little brother had survived the fire and was out there… somewhere. He gave a small shake of his head, feeling his eyes burn. There was no denying it; he believed every last word this man had given him. He couldn't turn back now… not with the possibility that his baby brother was still alive and possibly in danger still.

"Dean?" Father Jim inquired warily; he'd seen the younger man suddenly clam up; struggling with some inner battle.

Dean ran the hand across his lips before slowly reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a brown leather wallet. He silently pulled out a small card, carefully placed it on the desk, and then with a single finger, slid it across the smooth wood.

Father Jim peered down at the other man's driver's license… and he suddenly understood. He looked back up at the young man, seeing him for the first time in an entirely different light. It made sense now as to why this particular individual had such a single-minded obsession and passion to finding this arsonist. He didn't know what to say; he'd never been prepared to have to actually face one of the surviving family members. "Dean Winchester," he said out loud, feeling as if verbal confirmation made it a little less surreal. "…I didn't realize Matthew had an older brother."

Dean stared hard at the other man, "Would it have mattered?"

He didn't really have to consider the answer, but he at least had the decency to sound apologetic. "No."

Dean gave a small nod, sniffing back an entire life-time of emotions he didn't even realize he'd been suppressing. "I'd like to see my brother, Father," he said calmly.

Father Jim drew in a deep breath, considering his request. "You do realize that Matthew-"

"Sammy," Dean interrupted. "His name is Sam." Just saying it made it a little more real.

The Father conceded with the tilt of his head. "You do realize that Sam has grown up believing his family has moved on… forgotten him. He's grown up in a foster care system, which though I take great pride in and have done my best with here in the church… it's a system lacking the personal touch of family. Not to mention once he hit the age of ten, the government took over and saw to his placement in actual homes. And I say 'homes' in the plural sense because despite my best efforts, his blessing, even though it hadn't made itself known yet had set him apart from the other children; which in turn made him a difficult child… an undesirable child. Mat-" Father Jim caught himself, "Sam has never known a family other than the church… he doesn't understand family loyalty, he's been alienated his entire life and he's currently waging a war not just with this demon… but with himself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the gift of prophecy is one of the more difficult blessings to handle." The Father ran a hand across his brow, trying to be as empathetic as he could be and still get his point across. "Imagine witnessing the death of not just the victims of the fire demon, but many of the deaths you read about in the papers or hear on the news. And I'm not speaking of the seventy year old man who stopped breathing in his sleep; I'm talking about the un-explainable death of a man whose body was found drained of blood, or the woman whose heart was missing… head's cut off, drownings, body parts, blood, death," he listed off, "… it's not an easy thing to live with. And that's not even including the migraines that follow the visions."

"It's a sucky gift- I get it." At this point Dean could've cared less, he had one focus at the moment. "I want – to see – my brother," he said slowly.

"And what would you do if you did?"

"What I should've been doing the past twenty-two years…" he said, slightly accusatory, "watching his back."

Father Jim folded his hands beneath his nose and stared long and hard at the young man before him, reading him, calculating, and sending up a prayer for wisdom. Dean stared back, resolute.

"I believe you would." The holy man finally answered. A small grin appeared suddenly and his gaze fell to the desk, "It's ironic; all this time I've been praying for the Lord to send someone to help Matt- Sam… someone for him to talk to… to watch his back," he threw a small glance to Dean. "Little did I know he already had; four years before he'd even been born." The Father nodded, "You're an answer to prayer Dean."

Dean's mouth quirked, "I usually only hear that from woman."

The Father stared at the other man, a little surprised at his shamelessness, "You're brother is a very sweet-natured, polite young man… try not to spoil that."

Dean smirked, but didn't make any promises. Instead he just reached forward and reclaimed his license, stuffing it back into his wallet and into his back pocket as he stood. Father Jim stood as well.

"So you'll call me? When you see him?"

"You have my word."

Dean eyed the man, reading his sincerity. "Thanks," he offered awkwardly, "for everything."

Father Jim smiled gently, "I did my best… the rest I blame on your family genes."

Dean snorted and pulled the Father's office door open, coming face to face with a familiar face.

Matthew Brayman looked, up in surprise, his hand still in the air ready to knock. When he recognized the man before him, his eyes widened in fear. He took a step back.

"Sam," Dean breathed… shocked at his sole focus being delivered to his doorstep so to speak. His joy was short-lived however as the younger man suddenly turned tail and ran. Dean didn't think, he just followed, sprinting after the taller man; ignoring the curious questions from the Holy man behind him who'd missed the disastrous reunion.

--S--

Matthew Brayman turned the corner at full speed, nearly colliding with choir's seats. He leapt over the pulpit railing and pushed off from the ground. Unfortunately his pursuer choose that moment to leap over the railing as well, colliding with him and sprawling them down the isle. Matt rolled to his feet and just as the other guy held up a hand, seemingly to get his attention, he threw his fist, hard into the older man's jaw.

Dean saw the punch coming, he didn't expect it, but he saw it coming and was able to at least pull with it to lessen the force of the hit. His whole body twisted around and crashed into a pew off to the side. He grabbed onto it to keep from falling to the ground and shook his head to clear it.

"Why are you following me?" Matt demanded angrily, feeling as if his one safe-haven had been defiled, over-run. "What do you want?!"

"Matthew!" Father Jim rushed into the Sanctuary, quickly taking in the scenario. He glanced between the two young men before stepping down into the isle, holding up a hand to still the anxious look in the younger one's eyes. "Matthew, son… this is Dean Winchester, he's here to help you-"

"What?" he asked incredulously. "You called the cops on me?"

"No, he's not a cop Matthew," the elder man implored calmly.

"I saw him! I saw him at the fire!"

"Did I look like I was wearing a blue uniform?" Dean decided it was time to reinsert himself into the conversation; he leaned against the pew trying to look un-intimidating.

Matt's head swiveled towards the other man only a few years older than him. "What do you want?"

Dean let out a grateful sigh… at least he was giving him a chance. "I wanna help you."

Matt shook his head with a guarded look. "You can't help me… no one can."

"Sam, if you woul-"

"Why do you keep calling me that? It's Matt."

"Son, please come back with us into my office," Father Jim gestured behind him, "we have a lot to discuss."

Matt's dark eyes stared at the man; this man he'd trusted his entire life… he shook his head. "No."

The Father felt a pang in his chest; distrust was clearly written in the young man's eyes, and he'd had a hand putting it there. "Matthew-"

"You're name is Samuel Winchester, you were born May 2nd, 1983 in Lawrence, Kansas." Dean interjected angrily; he'd had enough play time. "When you were exactly six months old there was a fire-"

"Winchester." Matt reminisced, he licked his lips. "Mable called you Winchester back in the diner." Dean's eyes darted to the side as he recalled. "Dean Winchester…" he nodded, knowing he was right. "So what… you think we're somehow related? That I'm your long lost relative?" He shook his head in denial. "I'm sorry you lost someone close to you… but I'm not him. My name is Matthew Brayman; I grew up in this church."

"Yeah? How do you think you got here?" Dean had expected this to go a lot smoother. "Is it so hard to believe, I mean look at what you do!" He flexed his jaw as he glared the younger man down. "How many kids have you pulled from the fire and brought here… to the same church you were brought to?"

Matthew stared at him; the ugly truth clawing for entrance. He swallowed, suddenly realizing it was an answer he'd always wanted, but denied himself the question in fear of what it would mean. He always knew he came from somewhere other than the church; that someone brought him there… he just didn't examine it out of fear. But if someone brought him here then… he turned two, pained and betrayed eyes to the only person he truly trusted in the world. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Father Jim sighed, hating that those accusing eyes were directed at him. "I was trying to protect you."

Matt understood that; he of all people should understand that considering he was party to the same acts, himself. He looked away with a small nod knowing it was enough; his eyes caught on the other man… his long lost relative of some sort. "Look, if you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of this."

"Well fortunately for you I'm a bit of a rebel," Dean said matter-of-factly with a snide grin.

There was no doubt in Matt's mind that he was; anyone could see that just by looking at him. Unfortunately Matt's job wasn't especially… safe. Sure the other guy fought fires every day, but this was different; he could get killed… and if he was being honest with himself; he didn't really want to have to deal with having a family now. It would just be more people expecting things of him, wanting him to look a certain way, act in a certain fashion, share his feelings- but not his true feelings; no there were even restrictions on those as well. He wanted nothing to do with family anymore. He had the church; it was all he needed.

"I'm sorry you've gone through all this trouble finding me, but I've already got a family." He turned to make his exit.

Dean grabbed his shoulder. "Sam-"

Matt shoved the hand away. "Look, I don't care who you think I used to be… I'm not him anymore. This is my choice…" he glared hard into Dean's eyes and spoke slowly, "I don't want you in my life."

Dean felt as if he'd been punched in the gut this time. He tried; he really tried not to let the swell of pain that came with that confession leak into his expression. He was pretty sure his lip twitched as he kept up the glare. He gave a small nod. "Fine." He broke the eye contact and walked down the isle, and out of the church; not bothering to look back.

He dropped into his car, started her up and squealed out of the church's parking lot and onto the street. He needed to drive… needed the release. He couldn't believe he'd gained his little brother back only to lose him minutes later; again. He stopped at an empty intersection; the red light reflecting in his eyes. He remembered her long blond hair, that brilliant smile and the loving arms that held him… those same arms once held Sam.

His eyes jumped to the rearview mirror. She had loved them both; she'd died for that love. He was the older brother… he owed it to her to look after him. He looked back at the street and suddenly floored it, jerking hard on the wheel. The black car swerved, tires squealing on the pavement as it made a 360 and tore back down the street it had just come.

TBC…

See, now that wasn't too painful was it? So what do you think? Lame? Or kinda cool? Either way the story is still going to come as is - I just like to know cuz I'm a glutton for punishment ;) Thanks again for spending time reading!